Saturday Surprise -- Goals Unmet

This is not the blog I’d planned to write today.  I was going to write about Graffiti Art and my recent obsession photographing it, but instead, I’m going to tell a little story on myself...because I find I must brag about my pals.

My plan for Saturday was to be up, out of the house and walking by 9 a.m.  I spent the week sitting - ugh - in front of the computer working in my Etsy shop being massively productive.  As a result, my sad little bottom feels flat and flabby and I was more than ready for a brisk walk across town to the Museum of Art to run sets of the “Rocky Steps”, stop for oatmeal and coffee and then continue the walk back home.  A good six+ miles roundtrip -- and those brutal steps working up a good sweat along the way - I knew I would feel wildly virtuous afterwards.  I envisioned a halo on my head and a sleeve of Girl Scout Cookies in my future..

Here’s what actually happened on Saturday.  I got up, put on my comfy old robe and slippers, made a cup of jasmine tea...and sat down in front of the computer.  Vowing to get up and go “right after I finish this” at least a dozen times -- this led to that when three cups of tea and six hours later the doorbell rang.  Still in my P.J.’s mind you, I sheepishly answered the door to find dear friends - Ms. X and Mr. Y - in town for the day visiting Mr. Y’s lovely daughter Z who’s studying at Penn.   Pleased to meet daughter Z for the first time, we laughed, we chatted, we had a whorl-wind catch up and out the door they went.  Great fun -- they didn’t seem to mind a bit that I looked like I’d just crawled out of bed with my teeth unbrushed, my hair a fright and the house strewn with newspapers, tea cups and toast crumbs.

I was so happy to have seen them -- even briefly -- because, as I’ve known for many years, I have remarkably special friends.  Honestly, I don’t know why I’m so lucky, but I have world class, creme de la creme, hands-down the best people on earth for friends.  Here’s an example of why:  several hours after Ms. X, Mr. Y and daughter Z departed, laughing their merry way down the sidewalk, I got an email from Ms. X.  Here, in part, is what she said to me:   

“You wear those silk pajamas well....It's rare that our friends are so "uptown" that they appear at 4 p.m. on a Saturday in silk pajamas and cashmere robes.  Do you know Myrna Loy???”

You know you are lucky in your friends when they surprise you at your worst...but manage to see you in fine, rare light...and of course Ms. X would know that Myrna Loy is one of my role models!  I’m afraid husband T did not receive William Powell comparisons in his sweats and baseball cap...I’ll be hunting up a vintage “smoking jacket” for him...on Etsy of course.

E. England

Home Decorating Ideas: Architectural Detail

My name is Elizabeth and I’m an addict.  Not an addict in the traditional sense, happily, but I am addicted to the beauty I find in old, romantic, classical architecture.  Specifically, the architectural detail that divinely decorates the grand old buildings constructed during the time of Kings and Queens, Czars and Czarinas and more recently in the United States, by myriad railroad, oil and steel tycoons who reigned here during the late 1800‘s well through the turn of the century.

Considering my addiction, which developed gradually while traveling in Russia, Turkey, France, Italy and England, I’m a lucky girl to live in Philadelphia -- an eminently walkable city with plenty of old money.  Close proximity to New York City and not that far from the famous Cliff Walk mansions of Newport, RI certainly helped as well.  In fact, when big name architects of the time weren’t busy with grand office buildings and palatial homes, they were commissioned to build magnificent mausoleums to celebrate the dead as well.  So, even our cemeteries offer amazing works of art.

One sweltering summer, not long after moving to Philadelphia, I offered to help a friend shut down her antiques store across town.  Every morning for much of the season, I’d set out on foot early to beat the heat, taking a different route every day to make it interesting.  With nobody yet out on the sidewalks racing to work, I could pay attention to the world around me rather than dodging cars and other pedestrians.  In this way, I discovered the extraordinary architectural detail and design of my new home and was almost giddy with excitement.

The architecture of Philadelphia has been well maintained and is wonderfully weathered, adding to the charm.  The newness has long since worn off and moss-green, rust and the patina of time enhances the beauty of each unique detail.  Harking back to an era when labor was cheap and ornamentation a sign of wealth and success, intricate ironwork, tile-work, mosaic and architectural detail embellish nearly every structure.  Thousands of masterpieces -- large and small -- can be found within the larger body of each building.  I marvel at the skill of the craftsmen who labored on these projects.  Where did they come from?  Why did they come?  How did they get here?  What has happened to their magnificent skills?

Beautifully carved cherubs, angels, and the expressive face of a native american settled over a doorway.  Horses, lions, bears -- all manner of mythological creature: the gryphon, winged dragons and gargoyles.  Oh and the Gods and Goddesses...they are lovely.  Once you begin to notice them, you see they are everywhere.  Museum-worthy works of art  -- outdoors, in plain sight, for all the world to see and yet, they are so common, they have vanished from our sight.  We walk past them every day and do not notice.

Actually, I notice them.  I stalk them with my camera...waiting for the light to mellow or shift, for the rain to come and deepen the hues, or the season to change.  I stalk them and capture them and print them out on museum quality paper made for watercolor artists because it enhances the texture of the stone, saturates the shadows and heightens the richness of streaking minerals and rust. 

Subject to the vagaries of time and weather, the architectural details are ever-changing and I know that what is captured today, may look very different a year from now and I am touched in a way that surprises me - a little window of awareness has opened.  So forgiving of the changes in the structures I am - finding them graceful, lovely and natural -- I am inspired to practice that same generosity on myself as I observe in my mirror the changes each year brings. 

Photography is remarkably versatile.  Float it in modern plexiglass.  Frame it in reclaimed wood for a rustic look, vintage frames for shabby chic style or classic black to blend with any decor.  So, indulge me if you would.  You’ve heard that walking is good for you -- take a walk in an old city -- or even in a small town that’s been around for awhile and was prosperous for a number of years.  Look at the office buildings, old banks, schools, libraries and government buildings.   Notice the doorways and windows and along the rooftops.  What do you see?  Snap your own photographs and pop them into frames, or stop into my shop and take a look at more of my images, which include a variety of travel photography, urban art and artisan jewelry featuring my photography as well.  I hope you find something new and interesting and beautiful on your walk -- or in my shop.  www.ninedragons.etsy.com

This collection of images has been pulled from Washington, DC, Charleston, SC, Philadelphia, PA, New York City and St. Augustine, FL.

E. England

What Do You Call Yourself

I’ve had many careers in my life.  At the time, each one felt random as I seemingly stumbled into one job after another.  Looking back, I see how each of those careers formed a stepping-stone pathway to who I am and what I do today.  

For so many childhood and teen years, as most of us do, I called myself a Student.   The monkey bars, finger paints and any projects involving glue, glitter or modeling clay were definitely my thing.  I was a tomboy, so climbing the highest trees, being the neighborhood quarterback, and making up a rough and tumble nighttime game we called, oddly, German Camp which involved a “guard” with a flashlight.  Hmmm.  Anyone else spend far too much time watching Hogan’s Heroes growing up?  I remember being fearless, ready for any adventure and I read books like I was afraid they might be taken away.  My very best days were spent sitting in the tippy-top of a cottonwood tree high above the rooftops with a book, looking far away into the distance...wondering what adventures were out there.  

As I got older, I discovered sewing...my grandmother and my mother sewed beautiful, well-made clothing.  I have photos of my mother, myself and my doll wearing matching dresses and two stunning quilts my grandmother hand stitched to remind me of their talent.  How like magic it was to snip snip some fabric and stitch it all together to create something unique and beautiful?  Empowering as well, to create such practical loveliness from so little using my two hands. I excelled at installing zippers and the neighborhood ladies brought their sewing projects requiring a zipper to me.  No one thought to mention that I might actually study such things as I grew older.  Those projects were fun, so I did them on the side.

Financially, college was wasted on me.  I didn’t know what I wanted and flitted from field to field studying a bit of everything - mastering, or discovering a lasting passion for...nothing.  After leaving school, I longed for adventure.  An extended trip to Europe between my freshman and sophomore years had ignited a need to explore the big, wide world.  I wanted to experience different cultures, ancient architecture, spicy, new food  and so I began to call myself an Explorer. 

When two friends moved to the exotic and very far-away West Coast, I thought that sounded fine.  California might well have been a foreign country for all I knew of it, so I slept on their sofa for a few months while I found a job and a place to live.  You don’t need great skills to show up, look presentable, answer a phone, make coffee and work the crossword puzzle all day - so I mastered my first office job and earned enough to pay the rent, drink margaritas and play at the beach.  Gathering a little polish, I moved on to bigger companies to answer their phones and make their coffee until someone discovered I could type like a fiend and so I could now call myself Secretary and then an Executive Secretary and then Executive Assistant right on up to Assistant FF&E Coordinator for a large hotel construction project.   

Volunteering to work a fundraiser for a big-shot East Coast politician landed me in the weird world of politics - for which I was (and am) entirely unsuited.  But it was an adventure and I was thrilled to explore a brand new Coast.  During this time I called myself a Fundraiser and Event Planner and I became quite comfortable asking perfect strangers to write checks for absurd amounts of money without blinking.  The first time I asked someone to write a $10,000 check and they did -- on the spot -- I almost choked.  

It wasn’t until a number of years later, when “my Party” ended and I was rudely booted out of a job, that I took some years to stop and wonder about what I might choose to call myself next.  Nothing in particular leapt to mind, so when my husband and I moved and I had the leisure to pay attention to the world around me -- very much like a child again -- I searched out a new home and nurtured my inner Interior Designer.  I became reacquainted with my old love of textiles, color, things that sparkle in the light and creativity.  After tossing a well-made camera into the mix, it became  something of a challenge, to end up as anything but a photographer. 

In this present moment of time, that’s what I call myself, a Photographer.  It’s a good fit.  I am filled with delight when I become aware of unusual, or unnoticed, visual treasures that surround us as we journey through life.  Mostly, they are ordinary things, there for all to see, but I capture them to show you their simple, perfect beauty --  each one a visual gift.  I’ve called myself so many things.  As I look back at the personal path I created with it’s jogs and turns and mis-steps, I am surprised to see each one leading rather naturally to the next and I turn forward and wonder what the next stepping stone will be.  

Come visit my shop www.ninedragons.etsy.com  Wishing you great adventures along your own path,

E. England

Note:  The lovely stepping stone path shown here is from:  http://tedwiebe.wordpress.com/tag/rhubarb-leaves/

I Believe

Just over a year ago, still mourning the very recent loss of my feisty 18-year-old cat, Christmas did not hold the dancing enchantment that it usually does for me.  It’s now “next Christmas” and snow or no snow, I feel bits of magic gathering in the air.  This blog is about loss and a very special book and hope.  Here’s what I wrote last year...  

Even with its wonderful, twinkly-lit, pine-smelling reminder of hope, peace, love and magic, I did not embrace the beauty of Christmas this year.  Emotional numbness over the recent loss of our handful of a way-smart cat and a long weekend get-away in early December left me hollow and rushing to stage a Christmas just before the big day.  My heart wasn’t in it, the energy wasn’t there.  I could not find a way to imagine our mantle, decorated with greenery and stockings, missing one stocking for the first time in almost eighteen years.  At the last minute, we put up a lovely tree and strung it with lights, but left it free of ornaments.  The mantle had its blanket of greenery, but we didn’t hang any stockings.  We celebrated beautifully with longtime, dear friends, as is our tradition, but my heart did not expand with the joy I usually experience.  Well into the New Year I wondered if, after all these years, the wide-open place within my heart which had always allowed me to “Believe” had quietly but firmly closed one day without my even noticing.  

It was a disheartening thought in that, more often than not, I navigate happily through life on heartstrings.  Then my cousin Jane sent me a photo of her beautiful daughter Quin visiting Santa.  Quin turned ten on New Year’s Day and is beginning to wonder, which reminded me of an unusual book I read each year in those special, glittering days before Christmas.  The ritual, forgotten this year, is to wait until the fresh green tree has been maneuvered into the perfect place in the living room, each special ornament has been unwrapped and, sparkling with memory, hung on the tree…and that final trip to the Post Office has been made.  I then put on my favorite carols, light every candle in the room and with a large, wicked glass of spiked eggnog at hand, curl up with The Flight of the Reindeer by Robert Sullivan.  

Found many years ago in a sad little discount book store, this treasure of a book is about Santa Claus and Reindeer That Fly and giving with some bits about science, antlers and aerodynamic lift, a famous arctic explorer and the super-secret Presidential order that clears airspace over the United States each Christmas Eve.  They were asking $5.95 for it.  I bought them all.

Every year, when a friend tells me their son or daughter is beginning to wonder, I dust off one of my stash and send it off to them.  That little tradition began not long after I found the books when my friend Maud told me her son Billy had arrived home from school that week very upset over remarks his teacher had made about Santa.  The concerned parents had a huddle over what exactly to tell their trusting child and then wise dad explained that we all reach a point when we must decide whether or not to “believe”.  He went on to say that some choose to stop believing in what cannot be proven, while others, and in this he included himself, know within their hearts they will always believe.  

So, here I sit thinking about this magical book and loss, and the choices we make and I begin to cry -- in a good way – because I can feel that familiar ache of joy within my heart and I remember that…I believe.  Such a lovely gift…because the sun shines brighter, the flowers smell sweeter and the people around me seem so much kinder.  Happy New Year…I’m looking forward to next Christmas.

_______________________________________________________

Wishing you peace, love and light this season and in the year to come.  E. England

www.etsy.com/shop/ninedragons

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The Finer Things In Life

In so many respects, I’m a down-to-earth, practical person - after all we mid-westerners are known for our no-frills common sense.  I shop selectively and will wear, use and drive my purchases until they can be worn, used and driven no more.  My current car is well over a dozen years old and has 147,000 miles on it -- I can’t bear to imagine life without it.  Sturdy boxes that come in the mail are re-used, along with pretty tissue paper and paper bags -- because it seems a little sad to throw away something so wonderfully useful.  I have been the queen of up-cycled, re-purposed and vintage since long before it was hip.

This is a very good thing - a balance to my “other” side.  As a little girl, my mother would take me back-to-school clothes shopping once a year.  With innocent and unerring precision, I would head straight to the dress, coat or shoes that carried the highest price tag in the children’s section.  It’s a “talent” that has stayed with me throughout my life.  When shopping for a special occasion dress, the one I select will be made of delicate fabric spun from the silken threads of hand-fed imperial silkworms and beaded with bits of starlight brought back to earth on the space shuttle to be hand stitched over many months by blind Tibetan monks.  You can imagine how much that costs. 

When I began to offer my photography for sale, I did it the only way I knew how - by photographing subjects I found interesting and a little different maybe and then selecting creamy-white archival watercolor paper on which to print the finest inks.  I’m drawn to 8-ply, rather than the standard 4-ply, mats.  When framing my photographs of China, the most complementary mats seem always to be those of raw silk.  In other words, I photograph, mat and often frame things I would happily purchase to hang in my own home.  This isn’t sounding very down-to-earth or practical is it?

An Etsy teammate, a generous man and “knower-of-all-things” has suggested to me that shoppers don’t care what a photograph or piece of art is printed on because we live in a “throw-away” society.  He’s right, of course, but those words were like a cold slap in the face.  Art feels so very personal to me and I assumed it was the same for everyone.  After all, museums don’t allow visitors to touch the art precisely because so many of us are compelled to get close to those pieces that attract us.  Just like love at first sight - the attraction is either there, or it isn’t.  You might appreciate all of those beautiful boys on the beach, but chances are, face to face, that delicious hum of frisson will only occur with one...or two of them.  Closer inspection will tell you if the connection is deeper - if the colors are true, if the subject is balanced, if you are, indeed, drawn to touch and take one home.

Hmmm. I’ve gotten a little muddled here - and you must wonder:  is she talking about art now or those handsome boys on the beach?  No matter.  Maybe I’m missing the point entirely -- holding on too tightly to my own concept of art when art is so very many things.  I could print my photographs on toilet paper and they would still be interesting and unique -- though not so easy to frame perhaps.  I could forgo the satin and lace this year and wrap myself in toilet paper to go dancing on New Year’s Eve and with my middle-of-the-country practicality, use what’s left at the end of the evening in the ultimate act of re-cycling.  I suspect though, that my connection to “the finer things” is imbedded too deeply in my little strands of DNA to find much comfort in either idea.

Stop into my Etsy shop.  Look around -- you may find something that speaks to your soul -- something that will make you smile every single time you gaze at it - something that your grandchildren might come to treasure.  If you buy it, I promise you, it’s been created with care and attention to detail and made to last 100 years...at the very least.

E. England

http://www.etsy.com/shop/ninedragons

Arroz con Leche and Love

Arroz con Leche and Love

Dinner parties are very special to me.  Gathering interesting new friends or dear old pals around a beautifully set table and chatting into the wee hours over good wine and a thoughtfully prepared meal is one of my very favorite things.  Lingering over leisurely meals and a bite or two of dessert is when the best conversations take place and secrets are told.  Truly, the most interesting stories come out once stomachs are pleasantly full, candles are burning low and the music is mellow.  It’s a bit of a balancing act, making the evening special enough so that your guests know you care, but easy enough to take part in the stories as well.  

Not being the best planner-organizer, I usually manage to pull together the table and the meal before 9:00 pm when dinner guests are at my mercy -- but I often run out of steam when it comes to planning and preparing a calorie worthy uncomplicated dessert. Nine times out of ten, I concede defeat and run out to buy dessert which, in all honestly, works just fine.

Still, if I can pull off a little homemade dessert that elicits mmm’s, I feel I’ve given my guests a secret hug or the whisper of a kiss on their cheek -- a tiny secret gift -- in exchange for their friendship.  Silly, I know.  My friends will love me either way, but I feel like I’ve just gotten away with something when I’ve hand-made the dessert.

Some years ago, I read an article written by a woman who chose not to cook.  To the dismay of her mother, domestic arts were neglected and her energy went towards a career.  In the article, she tells of falling in love and discovering her lover (a talented cook - how perfect) being drawn to the ethnic food made by her mother.  

She knew they were destined to be together when she realized one day that she wanted to learn to prepare something special for him.  She loved him so much, she learned to make Arroz con Leche, a recipe which requires time and constant attention as the rice slowly absorbs the milk, sugar and flavor of the cinnamon sticks.  In discovering love, she opened herself to sharing the gift of her time -- a very great gift indeed - whether offered to our lovers, our children or our friends.  

Her lovely story touched me, and encouraged me to think about how easily distracted I can be and how much I sometimes take for granted.  Within days of reading the article, I had ventured out to purchase the ingredients in order to offer my own dessert-loving husband the gift of my time.  Such simple ingredients, such a sublime dessert!  

I realize, and certainly hope, that my dinner guests never know how much time goes into this simple, elegant dessert...as I lay  small, warm ramekins at each place setting and smile inside.  The crisp bite of Fall is in the air, it’s the perfect time for Arroz con Leche, cozy dinner parties and love.

E. England

Recipe 

Warm 4 cups of whole milk.  Heat 1 cup Arborio rice with 2 cups of water, 1/8 teaspoon salt, one cinnamon stick.  Slowly add milk (about 1/2 cup at a time) to the simmering rice, stirring constantly.  Let most of it absorb before adding the next portion.  Finally add 1/4 cup sugar and 1 teaspoon vanilla.  Stop heating when the pudding is still very soupy -- 20 minutes or so.  Sprinkle with cinnamon.  

Note:  The inspiration for this blog and the recipe above was taken from an article titled Catching a Man With Arroz con Leche by Julia Alvarez

Please stop by and visit my Etsy shop to see my travel photography and Buddha jewelry www.etsy.com/shop/nineddragons

The Pool Next Door - Summertime Adventures at the Jersey Shore

THE POOL NEXT DOOR

              

Although summer is over and the Shore has returned to the quiet, peaceful place it will remain until next June, we had a birds-eye view through the kitchen window this summer of the vacation drama, excitement and celebration that takes place among the families who rent the beach house next door.  The house is one of very few with a pool and therefore wildly popular among families with small children.  Saturday is “change-over” day and it’s a real roll of the dice to see who’s moved in for the coming week.  It’s always entertaining….

  

“Daddy, he’s sinking”, we heard a little girl’s calm voice float through the kitchen window one Saturday afternoon.  She wasn’t alarmed, she was simply observing – as if maybe her little brother sank slowly to the bottom of the pool rather often.  Then, two short beats and she became a bit more insistent, “He’s sinking Daddy”. 

We heard a beer bottle thunk as it tumbled to the cement and then a sizeable splash as “Daddy” leapt into the water to pull his young son to the surface.  The family calmly gathered as the little boy coughed and sputtered.  Someone held his arms high over his head, while another family member instructed him to “breathe”.   Once it had been established that his son was, indeed, breathing as advised, dad set about removing the battery from his cell phone in an attempt to save its life as well…and pulled another beer from the cooler.  

We couldn’t help but notice the next day, the little boy was wearing “water wings” while in the pool.  Just another day at the Jersey Shore.